


The Theme Emerges

by ironmansassistant



Series: Assisting Tony Stark [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Potential for future romance, dad tony stark, father Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 18:12:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8411464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironmansassistant/pseuds/ironmansassistant
Summary: The reader meets Bruce Banner and Steve Rogers.





	

Dressed in nothing more than a loose tee and jeans, with scuffed up boots, you felt more out of place in the tower than you had in your entire life. Every person you passed was wearing either a suit, a dress or a tight pencil skirt and heels. All of them were looking at their fancy phones or tablets, typing away at whatever their job was. You gulped as you trailed behind Tony, grateful that nobody was looking at you at all. Most people didn’t even notice Tony go by, though a couple gave a “Good morning Mr. Stark.”  
The elevator door opened before either of you could press a button, and you each stepped inside. Once there Tony put his phone into his pocket and said, “JARVIS, this is Y/N, you remember them.”  
“Yes,” a voice said overhead, “the one that hit you with the spatula.”  
The elevator began to rise. You cleared your throat. “You have an elevator that talks? No, of course you do.” Your building didn’t even have an elevator, so of course Tony Stark has one that talks and opens the doors automatically.  
Tony looked to you. “That’s JARVIS. He runs...pretty much everything around here.”  
Damn, so you were the assistant to a robot. You looked up, trying to find a speaker but seeing nothing more than a shiny silver ceiling. “Nice to meet you…”  
“A pleasure to meet you as well,” JARVIS replied.   
“Told you they would take it,” Tony said smugly. He linked his arms behind his back and grinned.  
“Yes, you did Mr. Stark.”  
“You made a bet with your robot that I wouldn’t take the job?” you asked, leaning towards him as if to ensure JARVIS didn’t hear.  
“I made a bet that you would take it,” he answered, leaning back.  
The elevator came to a stop and the doors shifted left and right, showing you an open area. There was a wide elevated platform in the middle with a table and couches, and near the window you saw stairs leading up. To your right was a bar with a row of stools in front, and even more rows of alcohol behind it. You were so enamoured by the view from the top that you almost missed the man sitting at the bar reading a book.  
He turned at the sound of footsteps, peering at you through glasses with no frames. His brow was furrowed and you imagined it might be from working with Tony Stark for too long. Only meeting him last night left you confused and irritated, but also excited.  
“You’ve brought company,” the man said, stepping off the stool. He set his book on the counter, his free hand brushing down the dark purple shirt he wore. A nervous habit, you thought.  
“Bruce Banner, Y/N,” Tony said, holding his arms out towards you as if to put you on display, “Y/N, Bruce Banner.”  
You waved at each other in unison. “Nice to meet you,” you said.  
He gave you a nod in return, his eyes going to Tony.  
Tony told him, “They’re here to be my personal assistant. Getting coffee, being handed things, that sort of thing.”  
Bruce’s eyes went up and down you, much less scrutinizing than Tony but just as irritating. Another look that reminded you how out of place you were, another reminder that you were way out of your league. He said to Tony, “Because you need someone to get you coffee.” His eyes narrowed on his collegue.  
Tony’s narrowed back. “Yes, speaking of, Y/N?”  
“Yeah?” you asked, perking up.   
“Coffee?” he said. “Banner, you want one?”  
Bruce shook his head. “No, thanks.”  
Tony looked back at you. “Kitchen’s that way--grab yourself something to eat while you’re at it.” He pointed down the hallway to your right. As you jumped to the task, you heard him call out, “And try not to burn anything!”  
You frowned, remembering you’d put some bread in the toaster and never took it out. You knew it wouldn’t set off any fire alarms; the building had to have fire alarms for that to happen.  
Finding your way through the wide hallway to the kitchen was simple, and once you stepped inside you realized how dismal the diner kitchen was. You used to think it was big, with multiple stoves and a walk in fridge and freezer but it had nothing on what a Stark could provide.   
Everything was shining in silver or white, and looked brand new. The island counter in the center had a double sink, with pots and pans hanging high overhead. The far wall was a top to bottom window, just like the other room, and sitting along the right was a long counter, two stoves, a microwave and a large fridge and freezer. Beside that was a heavy silver door, which you assumed was a walk-in freezer for larger items.  
Dragging your eyes across the blinding utilities, you tried to figure out where the coffee was. It wasn’t until you spotted the Tassimo tucked beneath the microwave that you started to move. You blinked the spots from your vision as you began to search the cupboards above for any sign of the little cups you’d seen in commercials. You found them quickly, but there were about ten different kinds. Dark, medium, light, not to mention brand and extra flavours like hazelnut or vanilla.   
You quickly grabbed a white mug and set it beneath the nozzle on the machine and threw on a medium roast coffee cup. If Tony could drink the coffee from the diner he could survive a cup of medium roast. As it brewed you felt your stomach begin to growl, the smell of coffee (real coffee), making your mouth water. But you couldn’t peek into the fridge yet, and when the coffee was done brewing you started back to the bar. If you could do anything, it was bring someone their coffee at least.  
Tony had sat down beside Bruce and they each stopped talking when they saw you. You set the mug in front of him, the liquid still steaming. Tony blew on it before taking a gulp. “Thanks. Where’s your food? Did you eat already?”  
Hoping your stomach wasn’t growling as loudly as you thought you shook your head. “You wanted coffee.”  
Tony squinted at you, and oddly enough so did Bruce. Tony said, “And I said get something to eat. So, go.” He waved a hand at you, as if sweeping you back to the kitchen.  
“Oh...kay,” you said. “Do you want something?” Your eyes darted between the two men who each shook their head.  
You hesitated again and only when Tony raised his eyebrows at you did you turn and head back to the kitchen. You were used to ignoring your hunger--it was something you had to do to get through long shifts. Not only that, you had to ignore any cravings for real food you hadn’t stolen from one of your jobs.  
Cravings like french toast or something that hadn’t expired before the incident. And after one look inside the fridge, you almost wanted to cry.  
Food is one of those things a lot of people take for granted. Not that it’s their fault, they just don’t know what it’s like to go hungry. They aren’t used to having to choose between feeding yourself a good balanced meal or having a roof over your head, or having a pair of shoes without holes in them. If they had to go a week surviving off nothing more than a few cups of ramen noodles, stolen coffee and eggs, and maybe a loaf of bread if you’re lucky, they would want to cry too staring into the Avengers Tower fridge.  
Stacked top to bottom with everything a fridge should have, you weren’t sure what to make for yourself. Your instinct to go with what was quickest kicked in, and you found yourself reaching for the bread, ready to make more burned toast. But you hesitated, and pulled out the ingredients for french toast. It didn’t take that much longer anyway.  
It did take you a few minutes to find everything you needed, but once you did you were set. You were about to turn on the stovetop when you realized you needed a pan--it wasn’t just toss everything on like at the diner. Turning, you looked up at the variety of pans hanging overhead and reached for one.  
It was easy enough to grab the base, but as you lifted it up to unhook the handle it wouldn’t budge. The angle was off, and instead all you could do was pull and watch the rest of the kitchenware shake. You decided to give it one last yank, not noticing the person coming up behind you to help.  
You yelped as you heard a voice say, “Do you need help with that?” And at the same time the pan came free. You had pulled too hard and lost your grip on the pan, sending it backwards and clanging into someone’s forehead. At least that’s what you assumed happened, you had ducked down to avoid any damage. A few of the pots had come loose at the same time and clattered to the counter, bouncing onto the floor. Your eyes were shut tight and you managed to pry one open.  
“Aw, crap.” You covered your mouth with both hands, muffling any other curses that might try to slip out.  
Less than half an hour into your first day and you managed to nail Captain America in the face with a frying pan. You stayed crouched on the ground, looking up at the blonde blue-eyed hero as he set the pan onto the counter while rubbing at his forehead with his other hand. “I’m so sorry.”  
The pan hadn’t fazed him much, and he only looked down at you quizzically. He offered you his hand, which you ignored as you stood, choosing to lift yourself with the help of the counter.  
“Are you okay?” he asked. “I’m sorry for scaring you.” He looked at the pan on the counter and chuckled. “Very sorry.”  
“I...I’m fine,” you stammered. Your heart was racing standing so close to him. He was actually your childhood crush--what person didn’t have a crush on the amazing Captain America growing up? He was all anyone talked about in history classes, and there were pictures of him on every textbook. And there he was, towering over you yet managing to look like the least threatening person ever. “Are you…?”  
“I’ll make it through,” he replied. “I’m Steve, by the way.” He held his hand out to you, and this time you took it, trying your best to give a professional handshake.   
“Y/N,” you answered, “L/N. And I know who you are...everyone knows who you are.”  
He gave you a slow nod, as if finding that hard to believe. His eyes slid over your shoulder and you turned to see Tony and Bruce standing there.  
“Assaulting more people in the kitchen?” Tony asked with a smirk. “I’m sensing a theme with you.”  
“Apparently,” you muttered.  
“Cap, I’ve see you’ve met my new assistant,” Tony said. He came into the kitchen and set his cup on the counter, empty. You quickly swiped it up and went to get more when he added, “Calm down there, you don’t have to keep the cup full all the time.”  
“What do you need an assistant for?” Steve asked. He then flinched and looked at you as you shrunk down, cup in hand. It was a good question, one that was surely going to come up often.  
“JARVIS can’t get my dry cleaning for me,” Tony answered easily. He didn’t even have to think of why you were there.  
Steve’s gaze turned narrow. You wondered what he was thinking. But he didn’t question any further, probably because you were standing right next to him, clutching a mug in your hands.   
Tony moved around the island and surveyed the frying pan sitting on the stove, the bowl of whipped eggs, and open bag of bread. “What’s this? What have we got going on here?”  
“French toast,” you replied. You scratched at the back of your head, silence falling over the room. Just then, at the perfect moment, your stomach growled loudly, practically echoing through the entire kitchen. You blushed hard.  
Tony turned to the cupboard and grabbed out a new mug and tassimo cup. He set the coffee maker up and pressed the button to brew, shooing you away again. “Go, sit, I’ll make it.” He squinted into your eyes. “Do you ever sleep?”  
“Not much, actually. It’s fine though, I can--”  
Tony ignored you and turned to the bread, picking it up and looking at the bowl and then the pan. “How does this work?”  
You resisted a laugh for a moment but soon it bubbled out of you. You were exhausted, and the sight of Tony Stark trying to make you coffee and french toast was just...ridiculous. Not to mention Captain America was leaning against the fridge with his arms crossed, watching the entire scene play out. After you hit him with a frying pan. You couldn’t stop the laughter, and covering your mouth with one hand wasn’t helping.  
“Maybe you should lay down, Y/N,” Bruce suggested. “Tony said you work at a diner all night?” He stood, ready to lead you somewhere.  
Your laughter began to die down but the giggle still remained. None of them seemed to be judging you, but then again your vision was a little blurry from forming tears.  
“Worked,” Tony corrected, picking up different pieces of bread and inspecting them. “Banner, wanna take them to a couch and I’ll handle this?”  
“You’re going to make french toast?” Steve asked. Tony frowned at him but didn’t deny it.  
You felt a gentle tug on your arm, finding Bruce had come up behind you.   
“No, I should do it,” you stated. You couldn’t remember the last time someone made you something to eat.  
“I think he can figure it out,” Bruce said. He led you down the hallway and it was hard to resist when he set you on one of the couches on the platform. It was white and pristine, just like everything else there. Normally you never touched things that were so clean, feeling as if you would dirty it just by being near it. But today you fell onto the white cushions without a second thought.   
Bruce sat on the table across from you, observing you. “When was the last time you slept a full night?”  
You blinked at him, thinking. “Well it’s Friday today, so I would say about...fifteen years ago.”  
Bruce’s lips formed a thin line. “I can see why Tony took an interest in you.”  
You looked to your hands in your lap. “He just took pity on me, I think.” Why else would he offer you this job?  
“Trust me, Y/N, he isn’t one to pity a person.” Bruce gave you a kind smile. You almost believed him.  
There was something about Bruce’s calm demeanour that made you feel a little more in place at Avenger’s Tower. He continued to question you about your life, casual questions like what shows you liked to watch, books you’ve read, things you would ask a new coworker. When you asked him the same things he didn’t have many answers, usually commenting that his work kept him busy. And before you knew it Tony was putting a plate of burned french toast in front of you.  
You and Bruce each blinked down at it.   
“Thanks,” you said, picking the plate up. Tony passed you a fork and knife and you cut into the toast. Each person watched diligently as you raised the fork to your mouth and took the first bite.  
There was part of you that wanted to congratulate the man for making something edible. And technically the food was edible. But you weren’t going to put up with that. Instead you spat it out and shook you head. “No, nope that isn’t french toast.”  
“I slaved over a hot stove for--”  
“Five minutes? Is that how long you left it on there and still managed to blacken it?” you questioned. You stood. “Get in the kitchen, I’ll show you how to actually do it.”  
Both Tony and Bruce arched their eyebrows. You rolled your eyes. “Yes, I interrupted you again, big deal. It happens. I bet you interrupt people all the time. So, to the kitchen.” When he didn’t move you clapped your hands. “Chop chop.”  
Tony’s lips twitched again as he tried to resist a smile.


End file.
